Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,68

the words I had secretly longed for a man to say to me, even though I had long ago resigned myself to the fact that no man would ever want someone as weird and strange as me.

Something’s not right here, the rational part of me said. It was warring with the teenage girl who had always wanted to be wanted by the most popular boy in school.

You can’t trust him.

I tried to disentangle myself. “What are you playing at?” I asked Jonathan.

He jerked back as if I had slapped him.

“I’m not playing at anything,” he said, sounding convincingly offended. “Geez, you’re so angry all the time. I said I liked you. Stop pushing me away.”

The rational part wouldn’t let it go. “It’s strange, though, you have to admit,” I countered.

“Okay, you got me,” Jonathan said, holding up his hands. “I did have an ulterior motive.”

I blanched. Was the public humiliation incoming?

He looked away slightly then back at me, his teeth catching his lip. “What I really want is for you to come to a pop-up Christmas restaurant with me!”

Relief flooded through me. Maybe he did like me for real after all.

You’re supposed to sleep with Jonathan and take secret sexy pictures, not date him, I reminded myself as we followed the hostess into the Christmas-themed bar.

Actually, “Christmas themed” didn’t do it justice. In place of tables were giant wrapped presents with seats made out of plastic that was formed to look like giant bows. The bar, which stretched almost the whole length of the room, was decorated to look like an elf’s workbench. The bartenders were dressed like elves and were handing a steady stream of Christmas-themed drinks to patrons.

Jonathan and I were led to an out-of-the way table that gave us a view of the space. Presents, lights, and ornaments hung from the ceiling. In the opposite corner was a Christmas tree strung with tinsel and the fat, retro colored lights that I’d secretly always loved, though I would never admit it.

Jonathan helped me out of my coat, his hand brushing the back of my neck.

What ever happened to millennial men just wanting to hook up and not wanting to put in all the work to date? Why was Jonathan suddenly now deciding to be a romantic? It struck me that this was the first actual, factual date that I had ever been on in my life. The drunken hookups with the wannabe hipster artists who thought showing me their great American novel, which a publisher was for sure going to pick up any day, counted as foreplay.

I stared around awkwardly. I was not the type of girl men took out on dates. Yet here I was. Between the Christmas wrapping paper on the walls and the attractive billionaire across from me, I was very much out of my element. I had changed my clothes before we left, and now I was wearing a black Wednesday Addams dress. It was a little short on me, but I didn’t think Jonathan would mind.

Jonathan ordered us two Mrs. Claus cocktails then leaned back in his chair, regarding me intently.

It doesn’t matter what his motivations are. You need to finish the art piece. That’s priority number one. You can’t blow this date. Maybe this is some strange mating ritual. Maybe he’s been moved by the Christmas spirit. Just be normal.

If Jonathan ghosted me, I wouldn’t have any way of finishing my art project. I would have no money, and I’d have to live under a bridge in Los Angeles.

Jonathan likes women like Keeley, right? Just channel your inner Keeley.

Barf.

The things I do for my art.

“So,” I said, twirling a strand of my hair and crossing my legs. My knee bumped the table, sloshing the water glasses. “Shit!” I cursed and tried to wipe up the liquid.

“After you drank all that champagne, I’m not surprised you’re sloppy,” he teased, helping me dab up the water.

The server brought our cocktails. I twisted my glass around on the coaster. What did people talk about on first dates? The weather? Crazy exes?

The servers brought out our Christmas-themed drinks.

Say something to make him like you.

“What are your plans for Christmas?” I asked. I sipped my drink then winced and took a big swig of water.

“How is it?” Jonathan asked.

“I need something strong to wash this down.” The drink tasted like imitation vanilla and had a greasy texture.

Jonathan took a sip. “This is nasty. I didn’t know these would be this bad. I should have just taken you